CHAPTER SIXTEEN

 

 

MARY JO CLOSED the door on Jean and stood and thought for a moment. This had gone from a simple target to really twisted in very quick order. Clearly the client who had hired her hadn’t trusted she would get the job done, so he had hired another assassin.

Or maybe Mary Jo had been the backup and just got to the target first. No way of knowing.

And then the client had hired a rookie killer to take care of both of them after the job was finished.

This needed to get cleaned up and cleaned up fast.

Mary Jo took a deep breath, dropped back into acting for the bug in her collar and called the young woman officer’s number on the card.

“I want to see my husband.”

“I don’t think that is such a good idea,” the young woman cop said.

Mary Jo nodded. Both of them were right on the script that Mary Jo knew would happen.

“I’m coming to the station anyway,” Mary Jo said, and hung up.

Mary Jo smiled. That would screw with the young twit’s mind.

Ten minutes later, Mary Jo pulled up out front after pretending to cry most of the way to the station so that anyone listening to the bug wouldn’t be shocked.

When she parked, Mary Jo spent a moment putting on the one clear glove and getting the poison solution ready to go, all the while pretending to cry.

The young woman cop met Mary Jo at the big double door. Concrete steps led up into the front desk of the station. Around them the night was still warm, without even a breeze.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” the young cop said. “Your husband was shot and they need to do an autopsy.”

Mary Jo had the poison pad in her hand and her hands were covered in the thin, almost invisible gloves with fake fingerprints.

“You may be right,” Mary Jo said after a moment, keeping on the script that she expected. “I don’t know what I am thinking.”

She gave the young cop a hug, rubbing the pad along her neck before backing away.

“I’m sure sorry,” Mary Jo said.

“It’s understandable,” the young cop said.

The young woman cop had no idea what Mary Jo really meant and that actually, she wasn’t sorry at all.

Suddenly the young cop looked pale and swallowed hard.

Mary Jo took her under her arm and turned to take her up the three steps and into the station. The drug was very fast acting and this woman would be dead in five minutes tops.

As she helped the woman up the steps, Mary Jo pretended to pause and stagger a moment. As she did, hidden from view from any camera, she slipped off the gloves and tossed them into a garbage can near the front door. The can was full of Burger King cups and food bags from the nearby fast food restaurant.

The poison wouldn’t last in the air like that for another thirty minutes and the gloves would dissolve in two hours.

“Help!” Mary Jo shouted to the officers inside as she opened the door. “She just collapsed into my arms on the front steps.”

Two cops ran to grab the young officer, then a third nodded to Mary Jo and offered his sincere condolences. Clearly the guy recognized her as the wife of the now-dead chief.

Mary Jo broke into sobs, as scheduled for her part of this passion play.

They let her sit in a back office and calm down before having an officer drive her home.

Then, as she closed her front door, Mary Jo killed the bug on her blouse and made sure the rest of her house and the nearby houses were clean of all recording and electronic devices and cameras.

Everything was clean.

She dug out a burner phone from a fake bottom of her purse and dialed a number.

“Yeah,” a voice on the other end said.

“Target is dead. The remainder of my fee has tripled because of your attempt at a double-cross. If the money is not in the agreed-upon account by this time tomorrow afternoon, you know the consequences.”

“You can’t threaten me,” the voice said.

“I know where you live, where your children sleep, where your wife loves to eat sushi,” Mary Jo said, keeping her voice calm and low and slightly angry. “I am patient, invisible, and you hired me because I get the job done. The job you hired me to do is done. The price is now four times my fee. Please do not fail me.”

Then she hung up, put the phone in a baggy and smashed it into tiny pieces.

Then she put some bleach and a few drops of a special solution into the baggy, sealed it, and tossed it into the trashcan outside. The entire thing would be a puddle of goo in the bottom of the can in an hour.

She then took a deep breath.

Finally, it was time.

She took out the pitcher of orange juice, a highball glass, and the vodka. She filled the glass with ice, added a good solid shot of vodka, then filled the rest of the glass with orange juice.

Then she put everything away before sipping the wonderful drink.

Perfect.

Just perfect.

Maybe, just maybe, a little later, she might just have one more.

And after the funerals, maybe she and Jean might share a few drinks as well.

After all, grieving widows could be forgiven a drink or two.